


Reflections

by glimmerglanger



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hunting, Prompt: Gunpoint, Prompt: Human Shield, Shapeshifting, Whumptober 2019, set in Season Two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 07:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20904062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glimmerglanger/pseuds/glimmerglanger
Summary: Sam hadn’t had enough time to forget how much he hated shapechangers by the time they ran into a creature wearing his face and leaving a trail of destruction and death in its wake. Still, they’d reasoned - he and Dean, prepping for what had to be done in the dreary parking lot of an abandoned Circle K - at least they knew what it took to kill shapechangers.At least they were prepared.Except it turned out they weren’t. What a surprise.-Written for Whumptober prompts #4 and #5, Human Shield and Gunpoint.





	Reflections

**Author's Note:**

> Two whumptober prompts in one! Now I'm only one prompt behind. Fic set in early season 2, since I'm way, way behind on the show, as well, so why not?

Sam hadn’t had enough time to forget how much he hated shapechangers by the time they ran into a creature wearing his face and leaving a trail of destruction and death in its wake. Still, they’d reasoned - he and Dean, prepping for what had to be done in the dreary parking lot of an abandoned Circle K - at least they knew what it took to kill shapechangers.

At least they were prepared.

Except it turned out they weren’t. What a surprise.

Sam knew exactly when it went wrong. It had been the moment when they’d slunk into the shapechanger’s lair on quiet feet, guns drawn, eyes up, and seen _multiple_ creatures scatter.

One had been wearing Sam’s face even then. The hunt had gone sideways, after that. All carefully thought through precautions - like staying together so that they couldn’t be ambushed by an imposter - got thoroughly taken apart and discarded. Sam lost track of Dean somewhere between putting a bullet in one of the shapechangers and setting fire to one of the barricades the creatures had built in the sewers.

And then there had been nothing for it but to fight and struggle through one more nightmare experience, breathing in smoke and the stink of the sewer, knowing he couldn’t call for Dean, hoping he’d make it out, hoping they’d _both_ make it out, hoping--

All that hoping went away when he found himself in the entry they’d used to reach the sewers, moonlight streaming down through an open manhole, illuminating two figures already there. One of them looked like him. 

The other barked, “Sammy--” and cut off, head jerking to the side when the thing with Sam’s face bashed him in the temple with the gun in its hand. It looked like Dean, the other figure. The shapechanger that looked like Sam held him tight, arm around his chest, barrel of the gun snugging back against the side of Dean’s head.

It said, “Put your gun down and step away.”

Sam hadn’t even realized he’d _raised_ his gun, but he had, training it on his own forehead. The thing hunched, trying to fit the entirety of its frame behind Dean but he was--he hadn’t realized he was so much taller.

“Shoot him now,” Dean - or the thing that looked like Dean - snapped, struggling against a grip he couldn’t seem to break. But then, if it were another shapechanger, it wouldn’t _want_ to break the grip. They could both disappear into the night, if they got much closer to the exit.

The thing wearing Sam’s face took another step back, as Sam hesitated, and Dean, or Maybe-Dean, said, “Damnit, Sammy, I--”

The shapechanger curled it’s arm up, hand fitting around Dean’s throat, squeezing. And Sam could almost feel the nightmares building up behind his eyes in anticipation of the next time he tried to sleep, if he lived long enough to put his head on a pillow.

John had taught them both, beating it into their heads, that they should never point a gun at someone they didn’t intend to kill. Seeing himself grinding the barrel against the side of Dean’s head was making bile climb up his throat, even if maybe this wasn’t Dean, even if this was a trick, even _if_.

Dean, or Maybe-Dean, drew his arms up, yanking at the shapechanger’s wrist, face going red and blotchy as he made this awful clicking sound. His heels kicked out when the shapechanger took another step back. 

There was only a portion of the thing’s head visible past Dean’s sweat-spiked hair. An eye, terribly familiar, watching Sam. “Drop your weapon,” it said, his voice but colder, he had to believe it was colder, that he didn’t sound like that, not really. “Or I’ll redecorate the wall over there with little pieces of his brains.”

“Dean,” Sam said, because he was a good shot. Maybe not as good as John, maybe not even as good as Dean, but-- He edged a fraction closer, looking for a better angle, and the shapechanger pushed the gun harder against the side of Dean’s head, shoving it to the side at an angle that looked impossible and painful.

“Are you not listening?” the shapechanger demanded. “Put it down, or he dies. Unless you want me to kill him? Maybe you’re tired of being bossed around, is that it?”

“Maybe he’s not really my brother.” Sam flexed his fingers around the gun. His pulse should have been slowing down, by all rights. He was no longer running around. They’d even gotten away from most of the smoke. But it kept right on racing along.

The shapechanger rolled Sam’s eyes. It loosened its grip on Dean’s throat, just a little, enough that Sam could hear him wheeze in a breath. “You want proof?” it asked, right at the ladder out, too close to escape, too-- “Tell him something only you’d know.”

Dean’s mouth curled into a snarl. He said, voice shredded, “Screw you.”

The shapechanger didn’t appear to be listening. It’s eyes cut towards the ladder, back to Sam. Sam watched muscles shift in his own arms, his legs brace, and he wondered if it would try to drag Dean along, if it would just kill him, how many people it would hurt when it got out.

He exhaled, poison filling up his lungs, mind riotous with thoughts, aimed for his own eye and pulled the trigger.

The thing looked surprised, for a moment. And then it went over, collapsing backwards as Dean shoved away from it, catching himself on the wall, shoulders curling down as he coughed for breath.

Blood splattered all along one side of his head, his neck, his shoulder. Sam took a step closer, listening to the organic, bubbling sounds coming from the shapechanger. “Jesus,” Dean said, spitting on the ground, looking up to scowl at him, “you think you could have cut that a little closer, I was--”

And then Dean lunged for him, reaching for the gun he held, and Sam was an idiot, God, he really was, of course--

He pushed and shoved back, but Dean had always known how to get under his guard, damn him, and he had the element of surprise. Sam brought a knee up, slugged Dean across the jaw, but he ignored the pain like it was nothing, focused solely on slamming Sam’s wrist against the wall, prising the gun from his fingers, and honestly, Sam should have known he was going to die like this, in some stinking hole in the ground, because he was a goddamn idiot.

Dean shouldered him to the side, twisted, and fired over his shoulder. 

The entire event took seconds. Dean stopped fighting as soon as he pulled the trigger, sagging, breathing so hard he shook with it. Behind Sam’s back, something heavy fell, hitting the floor with a wet thunk.

“Dean?” Sam asked, turning slowly to look, where another Dean lay across the ground, already beginning to dissolve and come apart.

“Mm,” Dean said, panting, rubbing at his mouth, his fingers coming away bloody. There were marks around his throat in the shapes of Sam’s fingers, and shit, but Sam had _wanted_ him to be the shapechanger, wanted it so badly, as though that would have made the images behind his eyes easier to deal with.

Sam shivered, stepping away from him, stomach clenched up in one hard knot under his ribs. “I’m ready to get out of here.”

Dean snorted a laugh. “You and me both,” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/glimmerglanger), too!


End file.
